


Storm Approaching

by Angelise (angelise7)



Series: Best Buds [30]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurricane Gustav, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash, The fallout of divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hurricane Gustav comes ashore and the boys are preparing for the approaching bad weather while still dealing with their own personal shitstorm of issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Approaching

**Author's Note:**

> September 1, 2008 -- Blaine is 19 years old . Trent is 18.

"Is that it?"

Blaine shoved the last of the lawn chairs inside the crowded garage and, with a grunt, forced the heavy door closed. Every toy, every plant, every chair, everything not tied down was inside the two-car garage, and if Trent came at him with one more item . . . well, too bad, so sad. Whatever it was would have to take its chances with the approaching storm.

Glancing over his shoulder, he examined the darkening skies. Hurricane Gustav had made landfall earlier that morning and was heading in their direction. The electricity had already been knocked out, and it was still at least an hour before the storm arrived in their neck of the woods.

"So much for watching ‘CSI:NY’ again." A branch from a nearby tree fell to the ground and, driven by the wind, tumbled in his direction. 

Gustav had come ashore as a category 2 storm, and normally they wouldn’t have worried that much about it. Walker, Louisiana was roughly 100 miles from the coast, and most storms, instead of maintaining their strength, weakened as they traveled over land. By the time such a hurricane reached their area, it would be downgraded to a category 1 or even a tropical storm. Rotten limbs and old signs would hit the ground, some roofing shingles blow off, maybe even a tree or two would fall and block a road or driveway. Electricity would, without a doubt, go out, but that would be about the extent of the damage. Nothing to worry about.

Wrong.

Hurricanes Katrina and Rita had dramatically changed how every Gulf Coast resident responded to the threat of bad weather. Nothing was left to chance. No warning ignored. Not to mention, this year was the third anniversary of Katrina -- everyone and their mother were heeding the warnings of damaging high winds and heavy rainfall handed out by their local meteorologist, Jay Grimes.

"If Jay says it’s gonna be bad, then it’s gonna be bad," Blaine muttered.

Redirecting his gaze to the boy walking toward him, he took a brief moment to enjoy the way the wind was plastering Trent’s thin t-shirt to his chest. The soft cotton clung not only to his nipple piercings but also to every muscle of his upper torso and, once again, he was caught by surprise at how much Trent had changed physically in the last two years.

"What happened to that scrawny, snot-nosed kid that used to follow me around?"

Hard-as-steel arms slid around his waist and pulled him tight against an unyielding broad chest.

"That kid grew up, fell in love and hopefully, if this storm doesn’t cause too much havoc, will be nailing his boyfriend’s ass to the mattress in the very near future."

Chuckling, Blaine bumped his butt against the hardening contours of Trent’s groin. "Is fucking all you think about?"

Warm lips nuzzled the nape of his neck before moving down and marking his bare shoulder with a hickey.

"No, I think about food and cars, too," Trent answered with a mock growl of hunger.

Blaine was spun around and soundly kissed.

"Sex, food and cars. And not always in that order." Trent shook a finger at him. "You know I could just ignore that boner of yours and go make a sandwich. Someone, and I’m not naming any names, but a certain someone didn’t get any breakfast this morning because a certain *other* someone didn’t wake him in time."

After slipping his own t-shirt back on, Blaine readjusted his dick. If there was one thing his family didn’t need right now, it was him and Trent acting on their hormones in front of all the neighbors.

"I did wake you up, if you remember." He frowned. "And if you don’t remember, then I’m obviously doing something wrong."

He couldn’t help but grin at the blush spreading across Trent’s face. He’d woken his boyfriend with a surprise round of rimming that had nearly brought the roof down upon them thanks to some very appreciative screams. Trent may hate the actual act of rimming another but that didn’t stop him from howling his head off when it was done to him. He loved it to the max, much to his embarrassment, and Blaine could only hope he would overcome his abhorrence and return the favor one day.

Licking his lips, he continued, "And the reason you didn’t get any breakfast was because you fell back asleep after I left. Dad ain’t Mom. You eat what he cooks, *when* he cooks. And if you’re not there, then tough luck. You’re on your own."

The mention of his missing mother brought back all the pain and anger, and he turned away in an attempt to hide his anguish.

"Don’t, don’t do that. Don’t hide from me."

Those same strong arms again eased around his waist, and this time he held onto them for dear life. Damn the neighbors. He needed this, he needed Trent.

"Have you seen your Mom lately?" his boyfriend inquired. "What about your sisters? Angel texts me every now and then. Have you talked to her or to Suzanne? What about Lizzie? How’s my favorite munchkin?"

Blaine rested his head on Trent’s shoulder. His mom and his sisters were living with Grandpa Carl and Grandma Alice in Lafayette. He made the hour and a half long trip every other weekend, and Angel, now that she had a car, chauffeured their two younger sisters to Walker on the opposite weekends. It was both physically and financially draining but more so for Angel than for himself. Not only was she starting her senior year of high school but she was also working afternoons at one of the local day care centers in order to save money for next year’s college tuition.

Making a note to slip his sister an extra twenty or two next time she came down, he answered, "Everybody’s okay. Well, okay as okay can be considering. I drove up there last Friday. Mom was out running errands but the girls were there. I took ‘em all to ‘Wendy’s’ for dinner." He reached back with his right arm and tangled his hand in Trent’s thick hair. "Can’t believe I’m saying this but, God, I miss them. I miss their insane chatter, the way they bugged me about everything under the sun. I even miss the way they spied on the two of us."

A stray gust of wind blew a speck of dirt into his eye, and the resulting sting reminded him of their current task. "Come on. Standing here crying over spilt milk is not going to get this yard picked up. Was there anything else we needed to tie down or store inside? Not that there’s any more room in the garage."

He was on his way back to the house when Trent caught his arm and stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Your parents upcoming divorce is *not* spilt milk," Trent vehemently insisted. "And you can cry over it as often and as long as you like with me. I love you, Budman. Your pain is my pain. Don’t go all _Dean Winchester_ on me. Talk to me. Let me help you through this, okay?"

He hauled Trent close for another hug and kiss. Boy, were the neighbors getting an eyeful today. "Let’s finish up what we’re doing and then we’ll talk. It’s only the four of us, and I’m pretty sure Dad and Dan will be glued to the radio, listening for updates on the storm."

Trent pinned him with a fierce gaze. "I’m holding you to that. Besides, I’ve got something of my own I need to talk to you about."

His curiosity was instantly aroused. "Oh, yeah? What is it?” He followed after Trent, halting him at the foot of the ladder leading up to their treehouse. "Tell me you rethought this thing about working for Bueche. Tell me you’re staying here, with me."

"Blaine, we’ve been over that a million times. I’m going to work for Kenney for at least a year. Done deal, Budman. Besides, you’re gonna be busy with school and baseball," Trent corrected with a huff of frustration. “I’ll be back home before Thanksgiving.”

"Okay, you’ll be home for Thanksgiving," Blaine begrudgingly acknowledged, "but then the season starts back up in . . . what? February? When in the hell are we ever gonna find the time to hang out together."

"You’re shitting me, right?" Trent exclaimed. "You’re complaining about the NASCAR season? Hell, what about *your* season? Baseball is never over for you. If there’s not a game somewhere, there’s practice. If it’s not practice, it’s training. You live baseball 24/7."

Trent poked him in the chest. “Who was at the gym both Saturday and Sunday weight training?” 

Blaine started to defend himself but was silenced by an unfamiliar glare of resentment.

Swearing under his breath, Trent shoved back the NASCAR cap he wore. "Jesus Christ, Blaine, I know I’m gonna be gone a lot, but it’s my job. I’m not some prima donna pitcher whose future is bought and paid for by the Almighty Purple and Gold. I have to work for a living, whether you like it or not."

And there within lie the problem, Blaine thought. Not only had his mother abandoned him, but Trent had also, to a certain extent. And yes he understood, *totally* understood the reason behind the defection, but that didn’t stop the pain that crippled his heart every time he thought about his boyfriend being gone.

He squared his shoulders and glared right back. "I’m gonna ignore the ‘prima donna’ crack, okay? And yeah, I know you have to work. But did you have to take a job that has you on the road almost all year long?”

He held up a hand and halted the answering tirade. "Don’t you get it? I’m gonna miss you, miss you like hell. First Mom, then you. It’s hard, okay? It’s like everybody is . . . oomph!" He stumbled backward when hit by a solid wall of muscle.

"You shit for brains," Trent growled. "I am *not* your mother. I am *not* walking out on you like she did with you and your dad."

Without warning he found himself pinned to the trunk of the tree, his mouth brutally ravished by demanding kisses.

"I love you," Trent muttered between kisses. "Will always love you. Will never leave you. No matter what." 

Callused hands took hold of his shoulders and shook him hard. "Damn it, Budman, I’m wearing your brand on my arm and your ring on my finger. What else can I do to make you believe I’m 100% yours?"

Blaine widened his stance and groaned when Trent instinctively moved closer. "I know, I know, and I’m sorry I’m acting the wuss. This divorce thing is hitting me harder than I expected, and the thought of not having you here 24/7 only makes it worse."

The slamming of the back porch door broke them apart.

"Boys?" Sean called.

He saw Trent glance at him out of the corner of his eye as they turned and walked toward the house. "We’re not finished with this," his boyfriend insisted. "Not by a long shot."

He acknowledged Trent with a nod. "I know. And we’ll talk. I promise."

Avoiding his father’s gaze, he climbed the stairs ahead of his boyfriend. "Except for the stuff in the treehouse, everything else has been taken care of.

"Good."

He sidestepped the hand aiming for his shoulder. "Is there anything else we need to do? What about fuel for the generator? Do we have enough? Do I need to make a quick run to the gas station?"

A look of disappointment flashed across his father’s face. Blaine ignored it.

"We’re good," Sean answered. "But speaking of generators, your mom’s coming to get the extra one we brought back from the hunting camp. Alice and Carl don’t have a generator, and I said they could borrow one of ours." He glanced over his shoulder and relinquished a pained smile to the man exiting the house. "She and the girls will be here in a few minutes in your grandfather’s SUV. Suzanne just called."

Blaine watched covertly as Dan took his place next to his dad. The two men didn’t touch but the love they had for each other was evident in the very way they invaded each other’s personal space. A blind man could have seen it.

He shifted his gaze to the ground at his feet, remembering all those times it was his mother his dad was standing next to, all those times his parents were standing together, their arms around each other, their love a witness to anyone looking.

The heat of his anger shifted from simmer to a slow boil.

Trent tugged on his hand, and without a word he obeyed the unspoken request and sat next to him on the steps. Behind them he could hear his father and Dan move to the porch swing. Frowning, he ripped off a leaf from the azalea bush his mom had planted next to the steps and proceeded to shred it to pieces.

The azalea bush, the house, the property would soon be owned by none other than Dan. The man had stepped forward with a generous offer when the decision was made by his parents to sell the house and divide the profits. Dan and his dad would continue to live in the house with the understanding he and his sisters were welcome to stay with them whenever they wanted, for as long as they wanted.

With Trent on the road for the next few months, he really had no desire to live at home. Plus, his new scholarship covered living expenses as long as he lived on campus. As far as he was concerned the only time he’d be spending any time at home would be the weekends his sisters came in from Lafayette. The less time he spent with his dad the better

Glancing down the driveway, he searched for his grandpa’s SUV. Trent distracted him by engaging Dan in conversation.

"I read on the web that the Shaw Museum will be hosting a display of Ashton Walker’s work," Trent informed the older man. "Have you heard from your friend lately?"

He stared at Trent like he’d lost his mind. Ashton Walker was the person Dan had turned to for comfort after he and his dad had ended things. The famous artist had not only entered into a relationship with Dan but had kept him from committing suicide. The mere mention of the man’s name was a brutal reminder to his dad regarding the grief Dan had suffered following his departure.

His dad’s predictable reaction, an indrawn hiss of pain, was silenced and when he turned to see why, he saw Dan reassuring him with an extremely passionate kiss. It angered him to no end.

Yeah, he thought. Hurts like hell to think about old Dan eating a bullet. Why doesn’t it hurt that bad when you think about losing your wife and daughters? And it should hurt, you bastard. Should rip your fucking heart out.

"Speaking of Ashton Walker . . . ." He pinned his father with a hate-filled glare. "What exactly made you turn your back on Dan all those years ago? Was it too much for you? Being a fag, fucking a fag? You loved him with all your heart, right? Pledged to be faithful, to love him forever? Or was that all a lie?”

He stood up and gripped the porch railing, ignoring the way the wood cut into the palms of his hands. “Was that how it was with Mom? Too much for you to commit to being straight, to love just one person, to love a woman? Did you lie to Mom, too?"

"Blaine!"

"Budman!"

"That’s enough, son. You have no idea what you’re talking about."

He turned his hatred on Dan. "I know exactly what I’m talking about. Everything was fine before you showed up. Our family was solid before you forced yourself into it." He pointed a finger at his godfather. "Couldn’t you have just fucked him and gone back to California like you used to? Did you have to stay this time and ruin everything?"

He was down the steps and halfway to the treehouse when a recognizable SUV drove down the driveway. He immediately changed direction and grabbed his mother up for a bone-crushing hug the instant she slid out of the vehicle.

Ignoring the questions thrown at him by his sisters, he buried his face in his mom’s vanilla scented hair. "I don’t give a shit what Dad wants. I’m not staying here another minute. If I can’t go back with you, I’m gonna ride out the storm at the Anderson’s house."

He allowed his mother to take his arm and guide him toward the house.

"I have no idea what’s going on," his mother admitted, "but Blaine, you and your dad and I need to have a talk. This anger of yours is not doing anyone any good. Sean, can you join us inside for a minute?"

Blaine took major comfort in the way Trent moved to his side and blocked his father from reaching for him. The three of them entered the house, followed by his dad, a bewildered looking Angel and a scowling Suzanne.

Good, he thought. Let’s get it all out, get it out into the open and stop this fucking nonsense.

 

+++++++

 

The wind outside was howling like a crazed banshee, and Blaine watched as limb after limb came crashing down. The yard was littered with tree and roof debris, along with the scattered remains of what was once their treehouse. It had bit the dust an hour after his mom and sisters arrived. The demise of one of his most cherished hideouts was painful, and he could only wonder what else he would lose that day.

Trent mumbled in his sleep before snuggling closer. Upon entering the house the two of them had taken command of the padded bench that ran along the kitchen’s bay window and had remained there long after his parents stormed out of the room. Trent had fallen asleep despite the continued shouting inside and the fury raging outside.

Blaine yawned. He was mentally exhausted from fighting with his parents for the past two hours. The decision to divorce was a done deal and there wasn’t anything he could say or do that would change that. In fact, his mother had delivered a gut wrenching announcement that had truly rocked his already shaken world.

She had taken a teaching job in Texas and would be moving there at the beginning of the year. The fact that she was taking his sisters was the current topic of discussion. 

He pressed his lips to Trent’s forehead. “Discussion, hell. More like World War III in there.” Trent snorted as if in agreement, thus earning himself another kiss.

Looking out the window he was surprised to see Dan still sitting on the swing. The older man look totally defeated, and Blaine felt the smallest twinge of guilt. He knew Dan had repeatedly offered to move out, had even suggested returning to California. It was his dad who’d insisted he stay put, and in all honesty he couldn’t blame Dan for doing just that. The man had lost the love of his life once and who in their right mind would put themselves through that kind of pain again?

"Yeah, ‘cause this time there might not *be* an ‘Ashton Walker’ to pull you back from the edge," Blaine whispered.

"Hey."

He carefully shifted to the side and made room for his sister.

Glancing at Trent, Angel chuckled. "That boy can sleep through anything."

"He hasn’t been getting too much rest lately," Blaine admitted. He then blushed when he realized what he’d said. "His truck! I mean, he’s been working---"

“Yeah, right.” Angel snorted. "I think it’s more like working hard at fucking you senseless?"

Grinning slightly, Blaine bumped shoulders with his sister. "Yeah, something like that."

"Good. Glad to know somebody’s happy."

His grin died a quick death. "How are you with moving to Texas?"

“It sucks as in totally fucking sucks.” Angel glanced over her shoulder and listened for a moment to the conversation taking place in the living room. “Suzanne’s so . . . you’ve got nothing on her in regards to anger. The minute Mom hit us with the news, Suze threatened to run away.”

Blaine watched his sister thread her fingers through her long hair and wished for the millionth time that he could somehow turn back time and rethink all the decisions he’d made that had led to the disaster he now called his life. There was the decision to accept the scholarship to Alabama instead of LSU, the decision to stay overnight with Trent instead of being at home when his mom went into premature labor, the decision to sell pictures of his body for money instead of thinking of some other way to make it up to Trent for missing his senior prom and finally the decision to share with his mother Trent’s pornographic story of his dad and Dan’s sexual relationship.

Hell, if he was honest and had the balls to own up to it, he, himself, was basically responsible for the shitstorm raining down on his family. His flawed decisions had put the ball in motion and he just couldn’t, at this moment, see any way of stopping its downhill journey.

He loosened the hold Trent had on his hand. Wrapping that arm around his sister’s drooping shoulders, he hugged her close. "Like I told Trent before, this whole thing reads like a fucking soap opera. We’ve got it all. A past lover come back to destroy the happy couple. A gay son and his gay boyfriend bravely flaunting their perverted love for all the world to see. A mother haunted by a child’s death. Two conniving sisters determined to drive said gay brother insane. A baby sister . . ."

"Hey, that’s two gorgeously sexy conniving sisters."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY? YOU’RE WHAT?"

Both of them jumped to their feet upon hearing their father’s shout of disbelief. Totally forgotten, Trent slid to the floor and protested grumpily when his head hit the bench.

"What the fuck?"

Torn between following after Angel and assisting his annoyed boyfriend to his feet, Blaine instead took a moment to look out the window. He was absolutely stunned by what he saw.

His and Trent’s favorite tree was toppling over like a dead giant, and they, along with Dan, were in its direct path.

"Move, Trent! MOVE!"

 

To be continued . . . .

 

FYI . . . Wind damage from Gustav was the worst of any storm in memory for Baton Rouge, Louisiana and its surrounding areas. (This includes the town of Walker where this story takes place.) The damage was severe enough to effectively shut down this area for over a week if not longer considering where you lived. While most residents chose not to evacuate further inland due to the minuscule threat of major flooding, large numbers of people fled the city after the storm due to the crippled power system in the city. Because most storms dissipate to below tropical-storm levels by the time they reach the Baton Rouge area, many trees that survived weaker storms in the past fell onto homes, cars, and power lines. In many of the more heavily wooded sections, large trees and fallen power lines blocked streets, causing relief to come slowly to those living in residential areas. 

Nearly all businesses remained closed for a week after landfall. Power lines along tree-lined streets were easily brought down as thousands of trees were uprooted and snapped in half by Gustav's fierce winds. These winds, some of which were clocked at over 100 mph, were sustained winds, meaning they remained at this speed for extended periods of time.

Entire sections were cut off by the mountains of debris. Few homes escaped roof damage as the storm passed over. It would be three weeks if not longer before power was restored to all residents of Baton Rouge and its surrounding areas. Debris cleanup was still ongoing at the end of 2008, four months after the storm had passed.

President Bush declared 34 Louisiana parishes as disaster areas and visited the state on September 3, 2008.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning -- we are definitely 'approaching' the end of this series. There will be at least two more chapters before I sign off on the boys. 
> 
> And never doubt my sincere appreciation to those who stop by and visit with Blaine and Trent. Thanks for reading!!
> 
>  
> 
> [You can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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